Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“You jest.”
The words escaped Sybil’s lips before she could stop them, her fork still suspended halfway to her mouth. She stared at the Duke across the candlelit table, certain she’d misheard his outrageous proposition.
Marriage? To him? The Duke of Vestiaire?
“I assure you, I never joke about matters of such importance,” the Duke replied, his amber eyes steady on hers. There was something almost… amused in his expression, as though her shock entertained him.
He’s enjoying this. The arrogant man is actually enjoying watching me flounder.
“But… why?” She set down her fork with trembling fingers. “You don’t even know me. I’m a stranger who happened to be in the right place when your daughter needed help.”
“Are you?” He leaned back in his chair, studying her with that unnerving intensity. “A stranger, I mean.”
What does that mean?
“Of course, I am. We’ve exchanged perhaps twenty sentences in total.”
“And yet, in those twenty sentences, you’ve revealed more of your character than most women do in twenty years of acquaintance.
” His voice held that quiet authority that made her pulse quicken despite her confusion.
“You risked your life for children who weren’t even yours.
You’ve built something meaningful from nothing.
You have experience managing young ladies who are… spirited.”
“Spirited?” Despite everything, she nearly smiled. “Is that what you call your daughters?”
“Among other things.” A shadow crossed his features. “Rosalie is eighteen and about to make her debut. She has opinions about everything from politics to literature, rides astride when she thinks no one is watching, and asked me just last week why women can’t attend university like men.”
She sounds wonderful.
“And the problem with that is…?”
“The problem,” the Duke said carefully, “is that society doesn’t appreciate young ladies with opinions. Or young ladies who ride astride. Or young ladies who question why half the population is denied education simply based on their sex.”
Sybil felt a familiar fire kindle in her chest. “Perhaps the problem isn’t with the young ladies but with society’s narrow expectations.”
“Perhaps.” His smile was grim. “But society’s expectations don’t change simply because we find them unreasonable. And my daughters must navigate that society successfully if they’re to make good marriages.”
Good marriages. Of course.
“So, you need someone to… what? Beat the spirit out of them?”
“God, no.” The vehemence in his voice surprised her. “I need someone to help them channel that spirit appropriately. Someone who understands what it means to be an intelligent, capable woman in a world that doesn’t always appreciate such qualities.”
He’s not wrong. But still…
“Your Grace, I’m flattered by your confidence in my abilities, but surely there are other candidates better suited to—”
“Are there?” he interrupted smoothly. “Tell me, what would the average duke’s daughter-in-law bring to this situation? A girl fresh from the schoolroom, trained in watercolors and French with no understanding of the real world beyond ballrooms and tea parties?”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
“Someone like that would either be scandalized by Rosalie’s independent streak or would encourage it without understanding the consequences.
You, on the other hand, are managing thirty-seven girls of various ages and temperaments.
Not to mention all the previous girls under your care.
You’ve dealt with real problems, real crises.
You understand both the value of spirit and the necessity of discretion. ”
He’s thought this through. This isn’t some impulsive gesture.
The realization was somehow more unsettling than if he’d been acting on mad impulse.
“I am truly flattered by your proposal, Your Grace, but I must inform you, I don’t wish to marry,” she said desperately, grasping for any objection that might pierce his calm certainty.
“Even better.”
Even better?
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t wish to marry either,” the Duke said matter-of-factly.
“I’m far too busy managing my estates and raising my daughters.
The last thing I need is some simpering debutante nearly the same age as my own child, trying to mother and guide my girls while simultaneously pursuing the futile goal of winning my affections. ”
Futile goal?
Despite everything, Sybil felt a spark of indignation. “You’re rather confident that any woman who married you would be disappointed in that regard.”
Something flickered in his amber eyes—surprise, perhaps, or approval. “Most marriages among our class are business arrangements, Lady Sybil. Romantic attachment is a luxury few can afford.”
Romantic attachment. The phrase made her chest tighten with old pain. She’d seen what romantic attachment could do—how it could destroy a young woman’s life when the object of that attachment proved unworthy.
Like Emmie. Poor, trusting Emmie.
“You make marriage sound positively mercenary,” she said, pushing the memory away.
“Isn’t it?” His tone was pragmatic, almost clinical. “You need resources to rebuild your orphanage and continue your work. I need a wife who can guide my daughters through society without crushing their spirits. We both get what we require without the messy complications of emotional entanglement.”
“What about the scandal?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Your daughters are about to debut, and I’m hardly what anyone would call a suitable duchess. My reputation—”
“Is the product of circumstances beyond your control,” the Duke cut her off smoothly. “Anyone with half a brain and the full story could see you were never at fault for what happened to your family.”
The full story. Her breath caught. How much did he know? Nothing of what happened was confirmed, right?
“I’m not sure society shares your generous interpretation of events,” she said carefully.
“Society can go hang itself,” he replied with such casual vehemence that she blinked in surprise. “You’ve spent eight years proving your worth through your actions. That carries more weight with anyone whose opinion matters than outdated gossip about events that had nothing to do with you.”
He really believes that. The confidence in his voice…
“Even so, there must be other candidates. Widows, perhaps, who understand the expectations of running a ducal household—”
“Do you want to know what other candidates bring to the table?” The Duke’s voice took on an edge that made her shiver.
“Ambition. Social climbing. The desire to be a duchess for the sake of the title, the jewels and the privilege. They would see my daughters as obstacles to their own children’s inheritance or as pawns to be married off for political advantage. ”
He’s not wrong about that either.
“You think I don’t have ambitions?”
“I think your ambitions center around helping orphaned children, not advancing your own social status.” He leaned forward slightly, his intense gaze holding hers captive.
“I think you would see my daughters as individuals deserving of respect and guidance, not as problems to be solved or tools to be used.”
Stop making sense.
Stop making this sound reasonable.
“This is insane,” she said weakly. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.” His certainty was maddening. “The question is whether you’re willing to consider an arrangement that could benefit us both.”
“An arrangement,” she repeated slowly. “Not a marriage.”
“A marriage in name and law. An arrangement in practice.” He stood abruptly, moving with that fluid grace that made her entirely too aware of his height and breadth. “The final decision is yours, Lady Sybil. I won’t coerce or manipulate you into agreement.”
Though I suspect you could if you wanted to.
The thought was unsettling, particularly because she wasn’t entirely certain she would resist such persuasion.
He was walking toward her now, his amber eyes never leaving her face, and she found herself rising unconsciously to meet his gaze.
The movement brought them closer together than was entirely proper, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his irises, close enough to catch that warm, masculine scent that made her stomach flutter.
Step back. You should step back.
But her feet seemed rooted to the floor as he stopped just within arm’s reach, close enough to touch but maintaining that thin veneer of propriety.
“I don’t want you to agree unless you’re certain of what you’re taking on,” he said quietly.
“This wouldn’t be a typical society marriage with separate lives and polite indifference.
I would expect you to be actively involved with my daughters, to help guide them through their debuts and into suitable marriages.
You would be taking on responsibility for their futures. ”
Their futures. Not just their deportment or their wardrobes but their actual futures.
The weight of that responsibility should have terrified her. Instead, she felt a familiar stirring of purpose, the same feeling she’d had when she’d first taken on the orphanage.
These girls need guidance. Real guidance, not just empty rules about curtsying and playing the pianoforte.
A duchess. The word sent a shiver down her spine. All the power and influence that came with that title, all the good she could do…
“Besides,” he said, and something in his tone made her look up sharply. A slow smile spread across his face—not the grim expressions she’d seen from him before but something warmer, more genuine. More dangerous.
“I’ve always had a thing for brunettes.” His voice dropped to that intimate register that made dangerous heat pool in her stomach. “Especially ones who try so hard to convince themselves they don’t want to be desired.”
What?